


loneliness comes in waves

by ollie_oxen_free



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Drunken sex, Hate Sex (Kinda), Not Beta Read, Other, Waffles, alcohol use, gift for badger who gave me the idea, i never re-read or correct my stuff so do not expect it to be perfect or even for it to make sense, if you find a mistake then Fuck You (just joking), just a heads up, the papyruses are Loney and it is Sad now give me kudos, they dont actually hate each other they are in Love but not yet, typical morning-after awkwardness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 22:26:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18647329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ollie_oxen_free/pseuds/ollie_oxen_free
Summary: Sans left a while ago to pursue his own life, his own relationships. Of course, Papyrus is happy that his brother his happy. The problem is he wasn't nearly as well-equipped to being alone as he thought he was.Or: Papyrus And Slim Are Both Lonely And Drunk, Which Ends About As Well As One Could Expect





	loneliness comes in waves

**Author's Note:**

> badger, given the chance, i _would_ end your life

The hum of silence was almost deafening. It had been for a while, now, but it was still almost shocking, entirely foreign in its sound- or lack thereof- and Papyrus really had no reason to still think that way but he did regardless. He does a lot of things for no reason, he thinks to himself. There’s not much point in stopping now. 

It had been a while since Sans had left the apartment. He’d started dating Razz a while before, but it wasn’t until they had finally moved in together that he realized just how much space his brother had occupied. Whether it was from his japes, his jokes, the soft snores from the couch, or the muffled sound of music reaching its way under the crack of his bedroom door, when Sans was home it didn’t feel so. Empty. 

Papyrus reaches up and rubs his sternum at the faint pain in his chest, wincing. He’s not sure why, but he hates the emptiness- the lack of something, be it brother or sound- more than anything else.   
There hasn’t been much to fill the space, really. Undyne and Alphys were married, now, off on their own, and he’s fairly certain they were trying to adopt a child, and everyone else was far too busy with their own lives for him to bother them because, what, he was lonely? He didn’t like the quiet?

He felt forgotten?

No. No, it’s selfish, and he cares about them far too much to bother them with his own issues, real or just perceived. 

It’s why he’s at a bar right now.

He’s never been an avid drinker. There have been times before, but he never made it a habit, paranoia at the one time he nearly blacked out when he was far too young to legally drink, before he realized that a habit like that could ruin his chances at entering the Royal Guard.

Not that he ever had, anyways.

He groans then, loud enough that the human leaning against the bar a few feet away gives him a semi-concerned glance. It’s easy enough to ignore with the amount of looks he already gets as a walking, talking, 6 foot tall skeleton. Burying his face in his hands, he glares at the drink resting on the bar through his fingers, as if his disapproval at the beverage would be enough to shake the deprecating thoughts from his mind.

He’s so busy scowling at the lime slice expertly perched on the rim of his drink that he doesn’t notice someone sat beside him until he hears his name.

The voice is familiar, and when he looks up he sees Slim perched on the chair next to him, elbows resting on the counter. There’s a glass in front of him, almost empty, a brown, frothy liquid at the bottom that has to be beer. Slim raises a brow, waving a hand in front of his face.

“Earth to Papyrus, you there, buddy? How many fingers am I holding up?” He pulls his hand back, sticking up his middle finger with a look of utmost concern.

Papyrus sighs, pushing the hand out of his face and rolling his eyes at the laughter that he gets in return. “Hello, Slim.”

He turns back to his drink, taking a sip. It’s good, fruity, but still holds the underlying bitterness of alcohol. From the corner of his eye he sees Slim take the rest of his own drink and knock it back setting the empty glass on the counter. The foam clings to the sides, but slowly works its way down to rest at the bottom.

“So,” Slim says, leaning back in the chair in a way that let’s Papyrus know that he’s about to be obnoxious, “what’s the golden boy doing here? Not to be rude or anything.” The smile on his face shows that he doesn’t truly care if he’s rude or not. “I just didn’t take you for a bar kinda guy.”

Papyrus decides to ignore him. He finishes his drink. Orders another. Slim still stays sitting beside him, though, paying for another glass of tap. He’s not sure how much Slim has had to drink, but the way he gulps down almost half of the glass when it’s set in front of him suggests the previous glass wasn’t his first.

“You seem sad,” he says as he sets the glass back down. There’s foam resting on his teeth. After a moment he licks it away.

Papyrus sighs. “I’m not.”

Slim hums and seems to leave it at that, though Papyrus can tell he doesn’t believe him. They sit like that for a while, long enough for him to relax, and it’s almost  _ nice, _ almost  _ enjoyable _ despite the lack of conversation because he doesn’t feel so alone. He finishes another drink, and then another, and he’s already past the point of buzzed when the bartender cuts Slim off.

He was right, then, about the other drinking earlier.

Slim sighs dramatically, but the monster tending the bar doesn’t react, far too used to the situation to be truly bothered. Papyrus watches Slim get up from the stool, standing shakily. He squints at him, confused by his actions.

“What’re you doing?” Papyrus winces when he hears the slur of his voice and looks down at his drink. Empty again. Instead of asking for another he turns to fully face Slim.

The other snorts as he pulls a ring of keys from his pocket. “The fuck do you  _ think _ I’m doin’?”

Papyrus can feel his reflexes fading in a haze, but he’s still sharp and quick enough to reach and snatch the keys from the other’s hand before he can react. “You’re too drunk to drive.”

Slim glares at him, but the effect is diminished by the haze of his eyelights, blown wide from the alcohol. “Oh, and you’re not?”

“No,” he says. He stands. The movement causes some vertigo but he steadies himself easily enough, shoving the keys in the pocket of his jeans. When the other was sober he would give them back. “But I do live about three blocks away.”

Slim continues to glare at him, all drunken anger and annoyance but concedes with a curse and a muttered “fine,” walking to the door.

Inviting the other into his home probably wasn’t the smartest decision- he wasn’t entirely convinced that Slim wouldn’t try to rob him in the night- but if he left on his own, stumbling drunk down the streets or trying to drive and he or someone else got hurt, he could never forgive himself. So he walks beside Slim, squinting at the streetlights and the bugs flitting around the bulbs. Both of their walks are unsteady enough that Papyrus finally decides to sling Slim’s arm over his shoulders. He’s not the steadiest himself, but at least if one of them fall, there’s a chance the other will be able to help them back upright.

It’s not long before they reach his apartment, the human behind the desk giving them both an unamused look before they go back to their computer, leaving the two of them to make their own way to the elevator. When they finally get inside, Papyrus presses the button for his floor, getting his keys out in advance as he leans against the wall, one hand wrapped around the railing on the inside to keep himself steady.

Slim groans as they start to move up, sliding down to the floor and pressing his head into his hands. Papyrus lets him, leaves him to sit there until the doors slide open and he reaches a hand down to help the other up. Slim stares at it for a moment, like the gesture is suspicious- Papyrus wouldn’t really be surprised if that really was the reason- but finally accepts the help, letting him help him to his feet.

Thankfully his apartment isn’t far from the elevator, two doors down to the right, and it’s less than a minute before they’re both inside, Papyrus locking the door behind them.

“Nice place,” he hears Slim say, and he turns to see the other walking into his kitchen, hands braced on the counter. He glances back at him. “Seems kinda lonely for just you.”

_ He’s drunk, _ Papyrus reminds himself, but the words still make him clench his fists at his side.

“It’s fine,” he responds, following after.

A glass of water. That would help. He brushes past Slim and reaches for the cabinet above the counters, grabbing a cup and filling it with tap water. He drinks about half of it- lukewarm, he didn’t let it run long enough to actually cool- before he notices Slim is gone again.

He sets it by the sink and leaves, stopping in the entrance. Slim is standing a few feet away, his back to him, shoulders tense as he stares down at the table covered with picture frames in front of him, photos of him, his friends, the human, and Sans. At first, Papyrus thinks the other doesn’t notice his presence, but then Slim turns his head enough to look at him over his shoulder.

“Why do you have these?”

Papyrus frowns, confused. “What?”

“It’s not like he’s here to see them. Not like he’s comin’ back.” 

Slim takes his hand out of his pocket, reaching over to the photo on the very end. It’s a picture of him and Sans, a photo he’d taken when they were on a picnic with Frisk. Sans was actually smiling in it, not just for his own benefit but out of happiness, and he’d been so excited that he couldn’t help but take it. Slim flicks the top of it hard enough to knock it over, making the frame collapse.

He moves forward then, faster and more stable than he thought he was able at the moment, pushing Slim to the side. Nothing was damaged, not really, but he was radiating such a cold  _ malice _ .

“What’s  _ wrong _ with you?”

Slim scoffs, gives him a tight smile. “Sorry if I ain’t too keen on looking at the guy that stole my fucking brother.”

In a way, he understands. He knows the feeling, a tight and unjustified jealousy. It’s his own understanding of the experience that makes him so angry, knowing that it’s directed at his  _ own _ brother.  _ “Don’t _ talk about Sans like that.”

The other grins, all sharp edges. “Yeah? Or what?”

When he grabs the other by the front of his shirt, shoves him back against the wall, the grin stays. It’s expected, he realizes, because Slim is perfectly aware of what he’s capable of and actually hurting him isn’t it. It’s the smug look on his face that makes him want to do something unexpected.

He kisses him.

It’s hard and quick, he just shoves his mouth into the other’s with a painful clash of teeth and holds it there. The other tenses, and the part of him that’s still slightly sober thinks he’s going to get punched in the face, but after a moment Slim pulls him closer, opening his mouth and letting his tongue swipe across his teeth.

In the morning he’ll blame it on having too much to drink. Now he just presses back, using the grip he still has on Slim’s shirt to start moving him in the direction of the bedroom. They break apart twice on the way to the bed- once to open the door, the next to take off their shirts- and when Slim’s knees hit the mattress he falls. Papyrus moves up to straddle him, grinding down as he moves back into the kiss, still able to taste the cheap beer that the other had been drinking earlier in the night.

They grind for a while, long enough that his cunt forms, already slick. Slim is hard enough that he can feel the heat of the other’s length even through two layers of clothes. When he pulls away from the kiss Slim gives a soft whimper, and it’s that more than anything that has him pulling off his pants, peeling Slim’s down enough to be able to grind against his cock, the ridges brushing over his clit and entrance, his own slick helping to ease the friction along with the other’s pre.

Papyrus reaches between them and wraps his hand around the base of Slim’s cock, lining the head up with his cunt before he starts to sink down. It’s a stretch, slightly painful, but for the most part Slim manages to stay mostly still, hands fisted in the sheets around them as he takes it in, trying to adjust.

When they’re flush against each other he waits, for his own comfort but also to hear the other give a soft plea for him to continue. He starts to move, slowly at first, but quickly picking up the pace as it becomes smoother, chasing the high.

It’s difficult to stay upright, the drink still making things hazy, but the moans and curses of Slim, squirming underneath of him, are enough to be sure he pushes through it. He reaches up, a hand splaying flat across Slim’s sternum for support, and he feels clumsy hands move up and grasp at his hips. The bone under his hand is scarred, a deep gash on the rib right under where his ring finger is, a dip noticeable enough for him to feel.

For the first time he actually bothers to really  _ look _ at the other’s body, riddled with countless scars and ridges, carelessly spread over his bones. Something like pity, like pain curls in his chest, tight, and he slows in his movement, ignoring the plea from under him. His chest is heaving and he feels sweat running down the grooves of his spine, but despite that he feels almost cold when he looks up and actually bothers to meet Slim’s eyes.

They’re hazed out, something normal, but there’s something else behind them, something hidden, and with a shock he sees that it’s vulnerability, a loneliness and pain. Slim looks back, wide-eyed, and they both stop moving, and the air turns frigid.

Something snaps in Slim’s gaze and whatever was there is replaced by anger. He snarls, grabs his wrist and flips him onto his back in one fluid movement, pinning his hand over his head and not hesitating before he starts pistoning his hips, anger in his voice. 

“Fuck you,” he growls, right into the side of his skull. “ _ Fuck _ you.”

His other hand reaches down, thumb pressing hard against his clit as he fucks him with the same amount of fury, hard and fast. Papyrus wraps his arm around the other’s shoulders, not really able to do much but hold on because he feels the pressure and tension, feels it all too much at once, and when he finally reaches his peak he screams the other’s name, hips moving down into the thrusts that still aren’t stopping, even as he feels Slim’s pace stutter and hot cum coat his walls. 

Slim doesn’t stop, just takes his hand from his clit and reaches down around his knee with sex-slick fingers to pull his leg up and out, a new angle that takes his breath away.

He keeps going. Papyrus doesn’t really want him to stop.

* * *

 

When he wakes the next morning it takes him a few minutes to open his eyes. The headache that’s splitting his skull is far from helpful in the endeavor, and he realizes that he’s hungover at the same time he becomes aware of the person in the bed beside him. The memories from the night before rush into his skull unbidden and his eyes shoot open despite his pain's protest.

It’s with that that he becomes aware of the soreness of his bones. His pelvis aches and he feels something dried and crusty on the inside of his femurs. He doesn’t have to look to know what it is.

Papyrus sits up, rubbing his sockets. He glances over at Slim.

The other is sprawled on the other side of the bed, but given the size of his mattress it’s not far away from himself. Slim’s hand is flopped over his pelvis from where it fell when he sat up, and so he gently moves it back over as he stands. Slim doesn’t wake as he gets up but does mutter something unintelligible in his sleep, his hand moving back to the dip in the mattress where he got up, resting in the warmth.

Papyrus buried his face in his hands. He wanted to scream, but that would likely wake the other up, and he wasn’t quite prepared for that interaction yet. Instead he just moves across the room, grabbing a change of clothes to take with him into the shower. He turns the water on as hot as it can go- one of the benefits to being a skeleton, he supposed, no skin to blister- and scrubs at the flakes of different oranges at his pelvis, making sure he’s entirely clean before he steps out.

He pulls on the fresh clothes before he takes a deep breath and walks back into his bedroom, reaching down and shaking Slim awake. It takes a moment for the other to open his eyes, but when he does Papyrus watches them flash from confusion, to recognition, to something like regret all within a few moments. Before Slim can say anything he tells him where the shower is and that he plans to make breakfast and then he’s gone.

There’s waffle mix in the fridge, and he measures out enough for the both of them and grabs the eggs and the oil when he hears the shower in the other room. Papyrus sighs as he pulls out the waffle-maker, letting it heat up before he pours in the mix that he made earlier. He finishes making a stack just as the shower turns off, and by the time Slim makes his way to the table he’s already got the waffles, juice, and syrup sitting in the center.

They both sit and fill their plates. Papyrus puts the food on his plate but doesn’t bother to grab the syrup, just cutting off a small bite to have something to do with his hands. It takes a moment for him to actually swallow the bite, nausea from the hangover and the tension sitting heavy in his throat. Neither of them say anything for a while.

It’s quiet, and it’s tense. Two of the things he hates most. Papyrus glances up at Slim, feeling the other’s stare on him. When the gaze meets his own Slim looks away, quick, snaps his head to the side like the look hurt him and Papyrus can’t help but wince in sympathy.

The other mutters something under his breath, rubbing the side of his nose. It’s quiet enough that he can’t hear what was said. “What?”

“I’m sorry.” Slim says it quick, like he wants to force the words out and be done with it. “For last night. For…” He makes a jerk of a motion with his hand, flicking his wrist like he’s smacking the thoughts away.

“Me too.” That seems to shock the other enough to make him look back over. Papyrus isn’t sure why he seems so surprised. He’s the one who initiated it. Any blame that’s to be had is just as much his own as anyone else’s. He initiated it and though there was the awkwardness that comes with regret he still recalls enjoying it.

It’s quiet again. He takes the fork and pokes at the waffles. There’s barely any gone, and even though he doesn’t feel like eating he cuts off another bite so he feels less guilty about the rapidly cooling stack. 

It’s so completely silent that it feels like he’s alone in the apartment again, and it’s more that than anything else that makes him ask, “Was this a one-time thing?”

Shock again. Papyrus can’t blame him. He’s just as surprised himself.

“Do… you want it to be?”

They’re both lonely. He doesn’t really know much about Slim outside of what the other puts forth, what the other shows and wants to be known, but he’s aware of that much. The air is thick enough to cut with a knife, if he wanted. 

“No.” Despite the tension, he really doesn’t want it to just end after this, to shove things down and ignore them even if ignoring his problems is what he does best.

They still need to talk, he knows, but it can wait until after breakfast.

**Author's Note:**

> come check out my tumblrs:
> 
>  
> 
> [SFW](https://ollie-oxen-free.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [NSFW (18+)](https://ollie-orgy-free.tumblr.com/)


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